A Different Kind of Deadly
by Eva Fairsong
Summary: Valla's adventures have come to an end, but the hunt doesn't stop there. When demons scatter at the fall of The Prime any path is a good one to a Demon Hunter. But what happens when her companions serve as her compass both on the road and with her heart?
1. The Meaning of Relaxation

**A Different Kind of Deadly**

****Chapter I: The Meaning of Relaxation

* * *

_Note: I do not own Diablo III or any of its characters, even the names and general history of the OC can be found in the short story on the Diablo III site. Otherwise, literary merits belong to me._

* * *

She'd thought the ringing would go on forever.

Bastion's Keep had been little more than a blur in her memory, both during the fighting and at its end. People cheered so loud she couldn't hear herself think. She didn't bother trying. Angels. Demons. In that moment it didn't mean a damn to her. Valla wanted to teeter her way to her room, lock herself in, and let sweet, merciful exhaustion take her in its embrace.

It was awkward, waving and wading through the throng of people. Her gear and exposed flesh were caked in blood. Much of it was her own, though she was loathe to admit it. She stunk of gore and fallen debris, of burnt flesh and grotesque excrements she couldn't name. One whiff of her was enough to invoke images of Terror itself into the minds of the passerby. When several guards staggered back at the stench of her, she found a reason to be glad for her filthiness.

"Come alon' now, get back all of ya! Can't ya see the woman needs to breathe!"

This voice was louder than the others. Valla turned her head just in time to have her arm grasped by a meaty hand. It pulled her so strongly and so suddenly that her legs threatened to buckle beneath her own weight.

"She's wounded ya' bunch of fools! There'll be no celebrate'n while she's raining puss on the floor!"

_Puss_.

So that's what it was.

It didn't take long for the owner of that same meaty hand to drag her into their hold and lift her off the ground. She could hardly feel her legs. A small part of her was glad for the lift, though Valla was certain she looked ridiculous, slung over a shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She hoped she would remember to thank the stranger for their help. Now she could go someplace quieter, where she could finally-

"Stay with us now, Valla!"

-sleep.

* * *

"-la..."

Rain beat steadily onto the dirt mound.

"-alla..."

She numbly stared at the cold headstone before her.

"Valla!

The Demon Hunter gasped loudly, frantically scanning the room. Could she move, Eirena knew that her hands would be on her weapons, and her weapons, by now, would be embedded deep within someone's carcass.

"Be thankful she cannot move," the Enchantress said to the healer. "It has saved your life."

The large man gawked back at her over his shoulder, but Eirena had already reverted to staring absently through the air, tracing with her eyes something that he couldn't see, and he was glad for it.

Valla swore under her breath.

The aching.

Nine Hells, every muscle in her body was screaming in agony. It hurt so much she couldn't even find the strength to scream.

"Thank whatever Gods ya pray to, Hero," the healer shook his head. "Had ya come a moment later, I can't guarantee ya'd be alive right now."

"Pain!" she coughed. "Something for-"

"Allow me."

The familiar voice was accompanied by a rush of warmth. Valla felt her limbs revitalize. She breathed with far greater ease than before.

"I am sorry I couldn't arrive earlier, my friend," Kormac announced. "I was helping the Keep's men fill in holes in their defenses. When I heard about the state of your wounds, I came as soon as I could."

Valla nodded weakly. Bullets of sweat dripped down her pale face. Her dark eyes adjusted to the dim light of the room, home to but a handful of candles.

In it were Eirena, Kormac, the healer, and various other patients quietly resting on their cots.

She squinted her eyes.

"They're...not breathing," she stated.

"Aye." The healer wrung out a wet towel, patting her arm and collarbone. "This is a cellar we're usin' for the morgue. All the other stretchers were full, and I figured your stench could raise the dead elsewise."

The Demon Hunter nearly smiled at the joke. She'd been hoping to get a bath for the longest time.

"Kormac," she called. "When can you cast another healing spell? I _really_ want to take a bath."

"Preparing one now," he answered dutifully. "It should be enough to have you on your feet in the next hour."

The healer rubbed his hands clean at a nearby basin. He huffed, amused at the exchange.

"Looks like you don't need me anymore then. I'll ready that bath of hers. Just be sure to keep her awake. And you-" he looked to the Enchantress. She muttered incomprehensible things to the air, tracing something with her finger. "You just...stay as you are."

"Hmm?" Eirena turned around moments after he had left. Her eyes brightened upon spotting her companions. "Valla! You're awake now. And...when did you get here Kormac?"

* * *

Lyndon sat perched where he usually did in the Keep; at the tower.

There was something about being high above the world that seemed so very comforting. The largest of people resembled ants. Mountains and oceans were in full view. The horizon was just a breath away from his fingertips. It was as if all the glories of the Gods-forsaken world they lived in were magnified, its atrocities mitigated, and all these treasures appeared to be within a single man's reach.

What more could a thief want?

Fine, he was lying to himself.

Well...mostly.

The real reason Lyndon sat up there was to be alone; alone with his thoughts; alone with his spoils; alone with loneliness in an intimate setting. This adventure was fun, if one would call barely escaping unspeakable deaths on numerous occasions fun, that is, but it too was coming to a close. He and his stalwart companions had killed Terror incarnate, The Prime Evil, in a battle that would be remembered and passed down through the ages. Hell, thought Lyndon, I might even make it out as a hero myself in a song or two. But the point was this; it was over. The fun and games were over. The death and dying were over. He was a hero, blah blah blah, all in a day's work, etcetera...

But he was alone, just like it began and just like it was going to end time and bloody time again.

"I've been looking everywhere for you."

Lyndon blinked, swerving around to find Valla standing before him. She wasn't in her armor; an unusual sight, though a welcome one –he'd certainly whined she stunk enough to raise more dead than a necromancer now and then. Her black hair was wet, freshly washed just like the rest of her. It appeared as though she borrowed some flimsy fabric to wear. Lyndon swore under his breath.

"You're going to die of frostbite the second you defeat the greatest evil there ever was? What a glorious story that'd be!" He shrugged off his coat, throwing it in her direction.

It fell to the ground with a _thud_.

"You know, dear Valla," he began sweetly, "You're supposed to catch the coat when a gentleman hands one to you, and use it, preferably."

Her teeth chattered. "I wasn't aware you qualified as a gentleman."

He wrinkled his nose at the remark, but gracefully picked up the jacket and slung it around her shoulders.

"I'm a gentleman of convenience," he said adamantly. "Since you go through the trouble of finding me, you may as well make yourself comfortable. Now what do you need of my humble self?"

The Demon Hunter raised a black eyebrow at his self-address, but didn't press the matter. Instead she followed with, "We're going to Kingsport tomorrow. Best get that debt of yours settled quickly, and get your brother out from his cell."

His eyes nearly bugled out of his head. "Tomorrow?" he gawked. "You damned woman, you nearly died and you can't even take a week off or something?"

She motioned to herself, perfectly able and standing before him in the icy gale.

"I knew I should've burned that Templar's prayer books when he wasn't looking," Lyndon growled. "You've got to learn the meaning of relaxation sooner or later."

"Oh, but I do know the meaning of relaxation, Lyndon," she replied lightly.

"And what would that be?"

"Baths."


	2. Remainder

Chapter II: Remainder

Eirena glanced over her belongings.

There were few things in her small satchel; two sets of clothes other than her armor, two fine daggers, and a book: _The History of the Mage Clan Wars_. Of all these things it was the book that she considered the most precious. It was ancient as she was, and similarly, in remarkable condition. Its pages were littered with notes, some of the writing in it belonged to her sisters, and in two places were pieces of advice from The Prophet himself. The Enchantress brushed her fingertips over these inky lines, reaching out with her senses to feel the fading mark left behind by their presence. She could feel the faintest warmth emanating from these scripts, but so much time had gone on that it could have been the fabrication of her mind...

She missed them terribly.

For much of her life she'd been training to fight against the Darkness, The Prime Evils, The Vizjerei Clan... but she had never been asked, or had the courage to ask herself, what came after?

She had _nothing_. This time was not her own. These people were foreign to her. Their humor, their manner of speaking, their dress and etiquette... at best she was antiquated, a relic of a time that had faded into the crack of a history book.

"Eirena, are you busy?"

No... she did still have something left.

"What do you wish of me?" she asked, turning to face the Demon Hunter. Valla appeared much better than she had the other day. There were still dark bags under her eyes, souvenirs from countless nights staying vigilant for demonic attacks. Portions of her fair skin remained bruised, but otherwise she was whole. She stood there like a statue in the doorway, her face impassive, as it often was, while she searched for the words she wanted to speak.

"We set off for Kingsport today. It was an impulsive decision on my part." She shifted her weight to another foot. "I only just realized that I didn't take you into consideration. Your job is finished; if there's something else you'd like to d-"

"-_**no!**_"

The sudden outburst took them both by surprise. The Enchantress rubbed her arm uncomfortably, blushing to the floor.

"What I mean is...my mission has always been to follow you and be of use. Where you go there are many opportunities to better this world," she clarified. Eirena tried to keep her voice from cracking as it grew softer. "If...if you would have me, of course."

Valla regarded her with a strange, understanding look. Her charcoal black eyes poured over her, sucking her existence into their bottomless depths. It was unnerving, though not unpleasant. In fact, it was only when Eirena was being regarded this way that she knew that someone was attempting to see her for what she truly was. It made her feel...present.

"I usually prefer to work alone," Valla admitted after a time. Eirena tensed. "But I've had to grow accustomed to company in the last few months. You can stay with me as long as you like, Eirena."

The Enchantress released a breath of relief, and nodded, smiling bashfully. "I... you truly are a hero, Valla. Your abilities suggest nothing less." She fidgeted with her hands behind her back. "And I've also come to think of you as a friend. Does this displease you?"

The Demon Hunter watched her for a time, and then shut the door behind herself, leaving the two women in relative seclusion. For the first time, Eirena saw something resembling uncertainty unfold across her face. The woman's features softened, exposing a weaker side of her the Enchantress would never have suspected to exist.

"It doesn't, in fact," said Valla. She motioned to a nearby stool; her dark eyes flicked up in askance. "May I?"

"O-of course!" Eirena rushed to pull it out, but Valla raised a hand for pause, seating herself without trouble. Eirena quickly took a spot opposite from her companion, pushing her belongings off to the side, and bringing a candle forward for better light. The entire time, Valla's lips had the faintest impression of what could almost pass for a smile. Somehow, this only made Eirena want to please her more.

"You might notice that I've been somewhat...distant from you since you started traveling with us," she remarked slowly. She gazed into the firelight at the end of the tallow. It made her eyes gleam like wet pitch. "It wasn't that I didn't like you or approve of you, Eirena. I want you to know that."

The Enchantress tucked a blonde strand of hair behind her ear tentatively. The Demon Hunter observed this motion, and this time she was sure that Valla had smirked.

"You just remind me of someone..." She lowered her gaze; her lashes veiled her eyes from view. "Someone I lost a long time ago; someone that was the reason I am what I am today."

"Who?" Eirena didn't know what else to ask. She recognized that it was a painful subject. As good as Valla was at shrouding her emotions, alone she could spot the space between her brow knot up beneath her skin.

"Halissa," she answered honestly. Valla swallowed, looking first at the ceiling, and then at the table. "She was my little sister, and she was the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. She had blonde hair and blue eyes...just like yours." She looked directly at Eirena. "She was like sunshine, pure and...uncorrupted. And when the demons came..." Eirena saw the hatred seep into Valla's face. It became hard again. Her knuckles grew white in their fists. Fire burned the oil blackness in her irises. The Enchantress didn't want to admit that merely looking at her, though she knew she'd never hurt her, was frightening.

"Did she die in the attack?"

"That might have been a mercy," she breathed, calming herself. "But if she had died, then I would have lost my will to live then and there. I wouldn't have found the strength to run, and would probably have perished myself." Valla rubbed the back of her neck, wincing at a crick that wouldn't go away. "I took her away with me. The town had nothing and no one left. We only had each other. The next few days were hard, and I don't even know how I acquired what little food and shelter we had. I don't remember that part, and I don't care to." She huffed sardonically at her memories. "I do remember the fear, though, using branches to sweep our tracks, wading through a stream and marshland to get rid of our scent. Halissa grew more and more unstable. She was stone quiet, initially, too terrified to say or do much anything..." Valla lifted her hands, moving her fingers along with her coming explanation, "Demons are sentient beings. They claw their way into your mind, even when you've physically escaped them. They break down your defenses and use every fear and weakness you have against you. My teacher, Josen, told me that you are the demon's greatest weapon, and I never questioned it, having watched my own sister succumb to one."

Eirena poured a glass of water, nudging it forward. Valla took it gratefully.

"So what happened to her?"

"She went mad," The Demon Hunter sighed heavily. "One night she ran screaming and flailing, first at me, and then into the wild, and then towards the river. She fell in the water, grasping the ledge. I did everything, _everything_ I could to help her, but she seemed more terrified of me than she did the currents. She let go, and I found her body on the banks further down. I buried her body in a makeshift grave of cairn stones."

"What did you do then?"

Valla shrugged. "I stayed there. I had lost everything I had left in this world, except my life. For hours or maybe even days, I kept near her grave trying to find reason in it all: the attack, the running; her death...but there was none. We were victims with no one left to avenge us. That's when Josen found me with a group of Hunters." She folded her hands together on the table. "He verified everything I'd already figured out. There _was_ no reason. And we were victims of terrible crime that would go unpunished unless I became a survivor and my own avenger. He taught me that after a point, reasoning was useless, action was everything, and that hatred would fuel me where morality would not. Years later, here I am," she nodded to herself simply.

The two women stared at each other for a time. It was not an uncomfortable silence that passed between them, but one of mutual empathy and respect. They had both lost, or thought they had lost, everything that mattered on this earth. They ran on their memories and their convictions. They were sisters of loss and retribution. Eirena no longer felt so alone.

"You just..." The Enchantress shot up. Valla paused; her mouth remained open with the glass of water in her hand, slouched in the chair. She looked up at her. "Every time I look at you I can't help but think you and Halissa would look so much alike, if she had a chance to..."

The sentence hung in the stagnant air of the room.

_Live_.

Eirena nodded, giving a meek smile in return. "Thank you for telling me, my friend. I, too, feel...hollow. Yet I know that it is not I that should be feeling hollow, but the world. I am a person displaced by time. My era has passed. Therefore, I cannot help but feel there is a great consequence for my being here." She pressed a hand to her forehead, sliding her bangs away from her face. "Part of that consequence is that I no longer have the right to choose my own life. It is as you have said; I came here for one purpose, and that purpose is fulfilled. But you have found a way in which to live. So far, I have not."

"You think I can help you get an idea?" asked Valla. "You think I can guide you in the right direction."

"I think," she admitted shyly, "It's a start."

Before she even had the chance to look up, the Demon Hunter was already on her feet. She reached out with one hand, smoothing down the top of her hair.

"You have a gentle and honest heart, Eirena," she said. Her voice had always been smooth, low. It was a sound men would call seductive. In a fight it could become terrifying. Here, Eirena heard a note of something more; of experience and unconditional care. In Valla at that moment, she heard the voices of her sisters. Her throat clenched at this revelation. "Of course you may come with me," she continued. "What you're going through is difficult, but I want you to know you can speak to me whenever you need to. You're too kind to suffer this way." Valla hesitated here. "I-I'm sorry. I'm not very good with this."

"No," Eirena objected. Tears brimmed her cerulean eyes. She struggled to breathe without sobbing. "No, you're _wonderful_, my friend."

The Enchantress couldn't see well, but again, she could sense that the Demon Hunter had nearly smiled. Valla started walking towards her satchel. She carefully piled Eirena's belongings neatly within its folds, tying it securely.

"Meet us at the foot of the Keep out the southern gate," she instructed. "We head off at the end of the hour."

* * *

"What do you think of all this?"

Lyndon swore silently under his breath, securing the last of their provisions in the caravan. Kormac sat at the end of the wagon, his legs swinging freely across the edge.

"Think of all what?" he asked.

The Templar stretched his hand before him in an arc, motioning to Bastion's Keep and its battlefield around him. "Everything that's transpired here. With all due respect to Valla, it's difficult to believe that one woman can lay such waste to an army, let alone vanquish The Prime Evil."

Lyndon still wasn't quite sure what to make of his question. He sat across from him on the wooden boards, grabbed a bottle from a nearby crate, and after some consideration, grudgingly took another.

"Rum?" he offered the extra bottle.

The Templar shook his head.

"Oh come on now! It's _sacramental_ rum."

"I have never once heard of sacramental rum," Kormac said stoically.

"Well you have now!" Lyndon set it down in front of him, tired of holding it in the air. "Blessed by yours truly and whatever Gods you please. Now then, to answer your vague question...you've traveled with our resident Demon Hunter the longest, have you not?"

"I have." Kormac eyed the bottle before him mistrustfully. "What of it?"

Lyndon took a swig of his drink. "Well, in that case you've always seen how she fights; like a starving wet cat with its last life on the line."

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he conceded grudgingly. Kormac continued staring at the bottle.

"That being said," Lyndon went on, "'You can't question she's a vicious fighter, so why do you question what she did out here?" He pointed to the corpses littered around them with his eyes. Kormac was still staring at the bottle. Lyndon rolled his eyes. "Oh take a swig already. I won't tell anyone."

Kormac snorted, "Do you swear on your honor?" he asked sarcastically.

"No, but I'll swear on yours. It seems to mean _oh-so-much _to you," he replied sweetly, batting his eyelashes. "Hells if I know why. You can't drink honor, you can't sell it or eat it or bed it. Yet it's so damnably heavy, weighing you _down_, making it almost impossible to relax without having the Rod of Guilt shafted up your ass in the process."

Kormac's face grew red. Lyndon nudged his bottle closer to him. The Templar grabbed it, bit off the stopper, and drank.

Lyndon didn't dare chuckle since he knew a lecture would be well under way for that little slip up. He leaned back against the caravan.

"But, thinking a bit more, it does seem rather incredible. The Prime was defeated single-handedly. I mean, we were there too, clearing the way, but it's almost impossible to believe she took Diablo down on her own. The Hells, the Heavens, the Eternal Conflict...it all sounds like the stuff of legend and myth."

"We're now part of legend and myth as well," Kormac reminded him. "And I guess you did bring up a good point; we were there right up until the very end."

"_Exactly_," he smirked. "We've riddled holes in a few dozen demons ourselves. And now our next adventure is-!"

"In Kingsport for you," Kormac pointed. "Next it's my Order. Though it doesn't seem very grand, compared to this."

"Have neither one of you stopped to consider that this isn't over?"

The two men choked on their drinks, turning towards the voice. Valla and Eirena approached the caravan, dropping their few belongings in with the others.

"What do you mean, it's not over yet?" asked Kormac.

The Demon Hunter strapped the bags into place. "There's someone that got away that needs to be punished. Leah must be avenged."

The three of them looked at each other.

_Adria_.

"Then why are we wasting time running errands?" Lyndon demanded. "This is a dozen times more important."

"Because we don't know where she's gone, and there's a high chance that she hasn't forgotten us." Valla's dark hair swung before her face like a curtain. "Getting things done on our own agendas, clearing out any demons we see along the way, and waiting for her to make the first move will give us a means to start hunting her down. I'm not going to forget her treachery anytime soon, be assured of that."

"Anywhere you go, I go, my friend," Eirena chirped. Valla patted the Enchantress on her arm at the remark.

"Go on to the front. I'll be there shortly."

Neither one of the men missed the kind tone of her voice. They exchanged quizzical looks.

"Kormac, you won't need to wear such heavy armor on the caravan. Use leathers and keep your spear on you instead. Lyndon, sit further back and have your crossbow at your side at all times. You're on lookout for any ambush and you're also calling out directions as you remember the way," she ordered.

"As you command."

"If that's what the lady wants."

Valla nodded, started heading towards the front, and stopped suddenly. She pivoted around to face them.

"Thank you for your hard work earlier...I couldn't have done it without you."


	3. The Flying Rodent of Heaven

Chapter III: The Flying Rodent of Heaven

* * *

The Silver City twinkled in the haze of early morning.

Its crystalline spires glistened as if sprinkled with wet dew. The floors, the water, the trees formed of starlight itself, sang to the passage of time around them. It was a gentle, triumphant chorus of humming and chimes. It birthed the slivers of cool breezes that rushed down its paths, and caused the wings of its denizens to glow magnificently.

High even among the Heavens, Auriel spotted him where he often loved coming; a simple man dressed in comfortable beige linens. His dark face was lined with scars and weariness, but there was strength in these features as well. His posture was straight, confident, and humble. His golden eyes held the essence of compassion in their depths.

"I can hear your song a mile away, Auriel." He did not move as he spoke to her; she could hear the smile in his voice. "Do not be sorry for it, though. Hearing it fills me with Hope, and it rejuvenates me."

The angel floated beside him and landed softly on the surface of the Silver Spire. Together they gazed upon the beauty of the Heavens in relative peace.

"Your mortality is something I need to get used to," she admitted. "The entirety of the Heavenly Host agrees, though I doubt they will tell you so in person, Tyrael."

The man chuckled softly. His human voice held a roughness that wasn't there before. It spoke of his newfound frailness, and a calling of hidden strength.

"I miss being able to swoop down from here already." He eyed the great drop below him with an uneasy smile. "But as for the other angels, I don't concern myself with their whispers. They'll grow accustomed to me in time. Hopefully, through me, they can learn that mortals are worth more than what they've thought for so long."

Auriel turned to him. Tyrael knew she smirked from within her faceless hood, "Hope is on your side in this, as it has always been, my friend." Her wings chilled his skin as she stepped past him. "It's so strange seeing someone that can't fly up here. It's like looking at a hairless rodent," she jested.

Tyrael roared with laughter. The entirety of the Span roared with him. Angels hovering at either end now looked in his direction, bemused and elated by his mirth.

"I'm still working on mortal humor," Auriel said earnestly. "I should like to see more someday. Perhaps in person, as you have."

It was obvious that he was touched by her efforts. Tyrael took to her side as they made their way back down to the lower levels of the Heavens.

"In all seriousness," Tyrael began, "I know that Imperius can't be pleased."

"Do not concern yourself with him," Auriel sighed. "Imperius has been as he has always been; vehement about the protection of the Heavens as the Archangel of Valor –as he should be," she conceded. She inclined her head towards the angels that cleared way for them. "Keep in mind, Tyrael, that he witnessed the destruction of The Diamond Gates, the invasion of our realm, and the near corruption of The Crystal Arch. He could not stop it, though it was his duty, and a mere mortal had succeeded where he had failed."

"She was no mere mortal," Tyrael objected. "She was nephalem."

"Even _worse_. Imperius had voted for the destruction of Sanctuary and all nephalem ages ago; do you not remember the events of the Sin War?" she asked. "When destruction first visited us, he naturally felt bitter about us -about **you**- , risking so much to spare mankind. The Prime Evil was birthed by mortal means. Being saved by one of the beings he has sought to eradicate was like being rescued by an ant he's been dismissing all his life. His pride is in _ruins_, Tyrael."

"As it should be," he scoffed. "For too long has the Host been arrogant, thinking itself immune to mortal men and their power. They have choice in all things where we do not. Let us guide them towards the Light. Together we can truly banish evil forever."

"And should the evil present in their hearts become more sinister than the light we bathe them in?" she inquired ominously. Tyrael frowned deeply in her direction. Auriel shrugged. "I merely pose a circumstance we may have to deal with in the future. You are no longer Justice, Tyrael, but _Wisdom_. You cannot do what is right solely for mortals without forsaking your angelic roots."

"And you are not Itherael," he countered. "Leave Fate and the deciphering of its paths to him, Auriel. Hope is what you do best."

At that point neither of the Aspects were pleased with one another. They tread towards the Library of Fate in silence. The spaces between Auriel's violet wings crackled with static energy, evidence of her irked state. Tyrael was also vexed, but he could not deny that Auriel had a solid point. He felt guilty, recognizing that he had, in fact, forsaken his brethren to come to the aid of mankind on far too many occasions to be overlooked. It suddenly made sense why Auriel mentioned the opinions of the other angels to him on his becoming mortal. In Tyrael's eyes, he was bridging a great gap between two potential allies. To the Host, they saw a traitor in their midst.

"What of your champion?" Auriel asked suddenly. "What is it you call her?"

"Valla." He recomposed himself. "She is a Demon Hunter. Harsh and brutal at first glance, but righteous and good once you know her."

Auriel smiled inwardly. "She is not half as cold as she appears to be. She hides a great, though wounded, heart. I could sense that she is driven by a deep well of hatred for the demons that threaten us all, but it is sustained by a deeper source of love for the people she wishes to protect from them."

"You probably never told her this to her face," Tyrael suspected, amused by what he was hearing. "Else she might have opted to keep you trapped out of spite." He couldn't resist a mischievous smirk. "Valla does not care much for others delving into her heart. In my experience, it is the fastest way to fall from her graces, and that in turn is the fastest way to get into a _great_ deal of trouble."

Auriel laughed, "I would have loved to have seen Tyrael, the Great Archangel of Justice, helpless in the face of an aggravated mortal woman."

The angel couldn't deny that his smile in human form was charming. He had dimples on his rugged face; something that made him look so young and daring he could have passed for a thief. She knew in her heart that mortality suited him. It was as if he was born an angel to become a man.

"What is Valla doing now? Hers will not be a simple life any longer." Her voice was thick with concern. "She is a great warrior and our savior. It would be unwise to allow her to roam about without a means of contacting her, should the need arise."

"I have already come up with a solution."

Itherael flew before them. The Scroll of Fate remained fastened to his side as it often was. He brought forth a bracelet from his sleeves. It appeared to be made of porcelain at first glance, but in the ever changing light of the Library, it gleamed from imperceptible facets in its construction, shining with an inherent glow.

"The matter of the Demon Hunter weighed upon my mind heavily." He looked between the two of them. "I can only suppose that it has been the same for you as well, Auriel, Tyrael, or else you wouldn't have come to my sanctum." Itherael handed the cuff to the only mortal among them. "I forged this from the true silver at the base of our wings; yours from when you discarded them. I apologize for using the metal without your permission," he added quickly. "But seeing as it has been done, only you can speak to the Demon Hunter directly. The matching cuff must be given to her for a connection to be established."

Auriel hovered beside him suspiciously. "I would never have thought you to be so concerned for mortals."

"Not mortals," he disagreed. "This one mortal, this nephalem, has saved all Creation. We, and the entirety of the High Heavens, owe her a debt we can never hope to repay. It is our duty to watch over her, and unlike Imperius, I can admit this freely. Our eyes have been forcibly made open, thanks to Diablo's invasion. We are indeed susceptible to many things. We need allies, and above all, we need to take responsibility for our mortal children. For too long have we treated them, the result of angelic and demonic copulation, as abominations. I believe now that these bastard children must be made our heirs. It is not without risk that I propose this, but the Demon Hunter -Valla, has given me the strength to believe in the good of mankind."

The conviction in Itherael's voice caused the halls of the Library to ring with him. Tyrael allowed the tremors reverberate throughout his flesh and bones, seeping into his soul. No words could describe how touched he felt by his brother's declaration. He gazed upon the cuff in his hands with renewed joy.

"Thank you, Itherael. This means much to me."

The Archangel of Fate bowed gracefully. "Is there anything else I can do for you? I imagine being a mortal in the Heavens has led to unease in your heart."

Tyrael grimaced; he was tired of angels either eyeing him strangely, or angels thinking he was pitiable in his current state. No one would have questioned him as the Archangel of Justice, but as a man, they were treating him like a fragile beast. Did he truly look so weak to them?

"Brother...you say you forged these cuffs from my wings," Tyrael ventured musingly.

"I did."

"Do you think it possible to forge new, smaller wings from them?" he asked curiously. "Fit for a man's shoulders."

Auriel laughed in spite of herself. Again, Tyrael made a displeased expression. This only served to humor her further. Itherael watched this exchange, deeply puzzled.

"Yes, though I fail to see why this incites laughter."

"_As do I_," Tyrael agreed sternly. "Auriel?"

The angel of Hope hovered away from them. "The Host will think you mad, Tyrael," she giggled. "Not only will you look like a hairless rodent, in terms of strangeness, but a hairless rodent with _wings_?"

Tyrael blanched.

What happened next Itherael had no words to describe. Put bluntly, Tyrael ran after Auriel who was near hysterics with laughter. This would have been a peculiar sight indeed if they were both angels, but as a man, Tyrael lacked their natural grace. He fumbled and appeared sloppy at best in his pursuit, very much, as Auriel had said, like a hairless rodent by comparison. Imperius...

Itherael paled.

Imperius would no doubt be disgusted, if not enraged by the sight. The Archangel of Fate could hear him ranting about the disgrace wrought upon the High Heavens already. Although he wasn't entirely sure if he would do much about it beyond agreeing with him. Precious few things ever made the keeper of the Scroll of Fate amused over the many long years of his existence. Fewer enticed him to smile.

But the sight of Auriel, taunting Tyrael in the air to follow after her, was nearly enough to make him grin.


	4. Bows and Bandits

Chapter IV: Bows and Bandits

* * *

Kormac heaved his spear out from the leathery skin of the carrion bat, frowning deeply at its brood-mates littered around the field. Eirena sat perched at the first wagon in their little caravan, followed by Haedrig and Shen in their own carts. The blacksmith made a disgruntled sound, followed by spitting on the corpse closest to him.

"Damned vermin. Can't we go five miles without running into a whole _encampment_ of them?"

"It can't be helped," said Valla, ripping an arrow out of one near him. "The Demon Lords have fallen, the legions of hell have scattered. We're still close to the battlefields, and so are they."

Haedrig studied her focused expression. Her eyes still gleamed with the dark energy that came with battle. She couldn't have been older than twenty. There was no reason for her to be so jaded at such a young age. He wasn't one to speak of such things, after all, he admitted privately, his outlook on life had always been rather grim, but he had survived many long and harsh years that culled him into that state. Valla has seen... more extreme trials, he was certain, but did it really merit such a relentless way of life?

"Valla, the demons will be picked off soon enough. Don't you ever get tired of your own anger?" he asked, concerned.

The Demon Hunter tore the last fleshy arrow from the corpse and started walking towards her wagon, leaving Haedrig baffled. The blacksmith scratched the back of his neck.

"Did the girl not hear me?" he wondered.

"She did," Lyndon answered, grabbing a latch to hoist himself up to the seat beside him. "She just won't answer stupid questions." The thief saw the man's face grow agitated. He raised his hands to show he meant no offense. When the wagons started moving, Lyndon curled his finger towards him. The blacksmith leaned inwards. "If she didn't have demons to kill, she wouldn't have anything left to live for. Look at it as a form of therapy, but let her be is my advice."

Haedrig snorted, "Like you know so much about her. She has plenty to live for. She's young; she has companions like you to keep her occupied."

"Like you had her to keep you occupied when your wife died?" Lyndon's words cut him deeper than the scowl that made its way onto Haedrig's face when he heard them. The Scoundrel didn't bother with looking at him, cleaning the demon flesh lodged in his bolts. "We all have our ways of licking our wounds, you know. This is hers –not like you have any right to preach, being the ray of sunshine that you are."

The blacksmith gave him a long, hard stare, but relented with a gruff laugh.

"When did you become such an expert on her? I don't think she'd take well to the fact you've been trying to prod her open like a lock on a treasury."

Lyndon pulled off one of his thick gloves and smoothed back his sweat soaked hair. His was an unusually thoughtful expression, an odd stranger in the place of his typical mirth and mischief.

"Ever wonder why people that fought long enough tend to favor certain weapons, Haedrig?"

"Because they're used to them," he replied matter-of-factly. "Of course you're going to use something you're good at; else the only good for a weapon is having it picked off your corpse."

"Good answer," he conceded, "But it's not the best. Some people just look _right_ with their arms, you know? I mean, a barbarian would look pretty damned stupid with a dart, but an assassin now, it's classy."

"What are you getting at, Scoundrel?"

Lyndon smirked, "What does a ranged weapon say about its owner, Blacksmith?"

"Hell if I know!" He folded his arms squarely across his chest, frustrated. "I make weapons. I don't sit down to break bread with them."

The Scoundrel clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth chidingly, "Nope, sorry. Care to hear the real reason anyway?"

"Sure," Haedrig waved his hand dismissively, "May as well."

"Anyone who uses a ranged weapon has enough common sense to stay safe, but it can also mean that they have no intention of getting hurt."

Haedrig threw his arms into the air incredulously.

"_No._ Next thing you're going to tell me is that the moon comes up when the sun goes down! Damn it all! Making a big deal out of common sense."

Lyndon chuckled under his breath, "Then you don't have any, now do you? How do you learn things are dangerous? You experience them." He lifted a finger, pointing to the caravan ahead of them, where somewhere, the Demon Hunter sat at its front. "No one is born with a knack for a bow, you're guided into it. She's been hurt before, Blacksmith. Judging by the corpses she leaves behind her, hurt terribly."

Haedrig sat there, stunned, both at his inability to make the connection, and the genuine sense the thief was making. He narrowed his eyes towards him suspiciously.

"And how would you know any of this?"

"Because she's been hurt." Lyndon nodded towards the crossbow in his lap. "And so have I."

* * *

"Act as you normally do," Eirena cautioned. "We are being watched."

Valla kept her hands on the reigns of the horses ahead of her, perfectly calm. "Are they demons?" she inquired.

"Men." Eirena appeared to be watching the road ahead of her, but what others didn't see were the spectral dimension of existence upon it. She saw footprints and shapes inching along within the thorny brambles of untamed shrubs along the road. "They have some skill with magic, but it is poor. They taught themselves, I would think."

"So they aren't the roundabout bandits." Valla scanned the area, a barren land that has seen its share of disaster. The Dread Lands weren't home to many, and this included thieves. "Do you think they'll try to attack us?"

Eirena paused.

"No..." she replied slowly. "They are not watching all of us, just Lyndon."

"_Lyndon_?" she asked, surprised. The Demon Hunter pulled her hood farther over her face. "Then it can't be Adria's work. She'd have eyes on all of us."

"Do you truly think so?"

"She's too careful. She's traveled with us too long to underestimate our abilities." Valla reached back for the knives in her sash. "But the fact remains, if one of us it threatened, we all are. I want answers."

The Enchantress recognized the sound in Valla's voice. It brooked no speculation about what she planned to do.

"I'll charm the horses to stay at ease. The ones nearest to us are three meters to your left, two, in the bushes."

* * *

Knives flew so quickly that the spies didn't even have a chance to scream.


End file.
